


Admirer at the Loft

by Peter Hale (RyloKen)



Series: At The Loft Series [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, M/M, Peter Enjoying The View, Pre-Slash, Relatively Short Anyway, Short One Shot, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-01
Updated: 2019-07-01
Packaged: 2020-06-02 03:55:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19433416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RyloKen/pseuds/Peter%20Hale
Summary: Peter's never thought of himself as lucky, too much bad shit has happened to him for that not to be true...But then one day he sees pale, pretty, mole-dotted skin and maybe, just maybe, luck's on his side for once.





	Admirer at the Loft

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Stiles Stilinski (spacewolfcub)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacewolfcub/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Hothead at the Loft](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19288087) by [Stiles Stilinski (spacewolfcub)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacewolfcub/pseuds/Stiles%20Stilinski). 



There was nothing worse than summer.

The heat, the smells – sweat was a particularly disgusting scent to have to deal with day in and day out while everyone went about their daily lives, ignorant to those suffering from more than just the waves of hellfire blowing misery every which way.

Sometimes being a werewolf wasn’t such a great thing.

But then, even with the heat, even with the stench of sweaty bodies still burning his nose and all but turning his vision blurry with pained tears, being a wolf had its perks.

Now, for instance.

He heard him before he saw him, that hummingbird heart fluttering away steadily as the boy he’d been enamored with from the start treated Derek’s loft as his own personal abode. 

He was a fascinating creature, and while he’d never accepted the bite – and hadn’t that wounded like a wolfsbane bullet to the leg – Stiles was still, and likely always would be, a singular point of interest. 

And if Peter were honest with himself, which he always was, the flailing Spark was one of the very few reasons he stayed in the hellmouth of a city instead of taking his few possessions and high-tailing it to literally _anywhere else_.

No, even if he wanted to, and he did, leaving that boy behind to be swallowed whole by their hometown, with its constant threats and monsters-of-the-week, was not an option.

He shook the thought off, pushed down on the images his mind pulled up of pale skin stained red and life leaving whiskey eyes, and climbed the stairs to Derek’s apartment instead of using the service lift.

It wasn’t the monotony of one step in front of the other that cut through the dark spiral of his thoughts but rather a drawn-out moan, pitched low in relief and delight. 

He paused mid-step with his head cocked slightly to the side to better judge exactly where in the loft Stiles was making such provocative noises.

The sound echoed slightly but not enough to be in an open area, and too much to be one of the bedrooms where the carpets and closely packed furniture tended to eat up sound.

A bathroom, maybe.

Peter shook his head with an inaudible laugh and continued up the last few steps, his ears perked for further developments.

Stiles, for whatever reason, was on a mission, his steps quick and determined as he stomped around the industrial apartment.

The loft, a sprawling hall of broken walls and stained to the core with the smell of wet concrete no matter how long they left the large windows open, was hardly a step up from the last abandoned building Derek had come to call home.

This place, at least, didn’t smell so much like someone had died in it.

Peter had to give his dear nephew some credit for buying a building that was actually habitable, but that wouldn’t stop him from wishing said nephew would at least try to make the place look like it was lived in.

At present, it looked as if it was being squatted in at most.

Peter sighed and shook the thought away as he stepped inside the apartment and tried not to be too judgemental.

He really couldn’t talk, his last home was a hole in the ground, literally.

His attention was dragged from his own musings by the flit of pale limbs disappearing through the broken brick wall.

He followed, a cat drawn after a mouse, and paused at the opening in order to stare, to appreciate.

_Well, well._

What a pretty picture the Spark made, pale skin dotted with little moles and on full display.

Peter couldn’t help himself. 

He rested his shoulder against a support beam, crossed his arms over his chest and cocked his head slightly as he settled in to watch.

He ran his eyes over the art in front of him, _beautiful_ , and wondered if the Spark’s skin was as silky-soft as it looked.

His gaze traveled, never one to give up on an opportunity so readily on offer, and felt heat surge through his veins the further south his eyes wandered.

The moles went all the way down.

He zeroed in on a pair of small hollows, a promise of dimples on either side of the Spark’s spine and half a hand above the swell of his pert little backside.

He lingered.

Stared.

He wanted to touch, wanted to _taste_.

Would Stiles make the same noises he’d made before if he was on his knees with Peter pressed close behind him?

Peter liked to think so.

He smirked, let the thought grow, spread, become something tangible.

Ice cubes clinked against glass, sloshed about the small sea of cola that was quickly disappearing down Stiles’ pretty, long, _very pale_ throat.

Peter’s gums ached, his gut grew tight with something like nerves, something like anticipation, and his cock…

It was then Stiles noticed him, squawked like a startled bird and went limbs flailing to hide behind the fridge door.

Peter couldn’t help but laugh under his breath, amusement settling in to temper the heat.

 _Gods_ , but the boy was a character.

It was then Derek wandered in, eyebrows in attendance and used to full effect; he wasn’t happy, but then, when was he? 

Peter rolled his eyes at the scowl Derek shot his way, and studiously ignored him in favor of returning his attention to the main event.

There weren’t many opportunities for him to see skin when the Spark spent the vast majority of his life swamped in ill-fitting clothes and doing his level best to be swallowed whole by layers.

Peter was going to have to take him shopping; no boy so pretty should be seen exclusively in _plaid_.

He shivered at the thought.

Stiles’ hoarsely choked out words drew him back to the moment and he was delighted to see those broody brows kissing Derek’s hairline instead of attempting a mass migration south for the winter.

Derek could probably peel them off and fashion himself some sideburns, if not a mustache horribly reminiscent of an _80’s_ era porno.

It was settled, Peter was never getting that image out of his head.

He watched his surly nephew stomp back the way he’d come, shopping bags still straining at his sides, five in each hand because Derek hated making more than one trip.

Hadn’t Peter suggested a couple of Carabiner D-Rings to make things easier?

He had, but it was more than likely Derek was suffering out of spite.

Peter wouldn’t be surprised.

He sighed, turned his attention back to the startled and wide-eyed Spark still hiding in the fridge as if Peter wasn’t strong enough to pry it open if he really wanted to.

He could, and he did, but where was the fun in that?

Peter liked the hunt and he thought, well, _knew_ , that Stiles did too.

A slight blush was staining the sharp lines of Stiles’ pretty cheekbones, his scent sweetening, and Peter couldn’t stop himself from licking his lips.

Did the boy even know the things he was doing, the signals he was sending?

Peter didn’t think so, and he had no time to think on it because there was Derek and his eyebrows, scowl in place and hand snatching the front of his shirt as if words were things for other people.

He had one last glimpse of Stiles before he was yanked away, and he tucked that image into the back of his mind for later.

He was definitely, _definitely_ , enjoying their game of cat and mouse.


End file.
